Names make news. Last week these names made this news:

Keeping a firm grip on their squirming pug, Trooper, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor bantered merrily with newsmen aboard the S.S. United States as they prepared to sail for a summer's holiday in France. No, said the Duke, he would not see the coronation of his niece. They were on their way to Paris before slipping down to Versailles, where they are converting an old mill into a suburban hideaway.

Coming out of Tokyo's Labor Ministry, at the start of a five-week lecture tour in Japan, Eleanor Roosevelt got a rude reception on the street from a band of about 20 Japanese women (reportedly led by the American-born wife of a Japanese). Flaunting Communist banners, the women jeered and shouted, "Go home. We don't want another war." Japanese guards came to the rescue and cleared the way to her automobile.

Because of "all the things he did to me," Egyptian Cooch Dancer Samia ("The Virgin of the Nile") Gamal, a onetime favorite of ex-King Farouk, chucked her husband of 18 months, Houston Real-Estate Heir Sheppard ("Abdullah") King III, and flew back to Cairo. Abdullah, flourishing a telegram ("I shall be praying for you") from Evangelist Billy Graham, followed. After truce talks in her lawyer's office, Abdullah emerged to announce their reconciliation. He had made "concessions," because "show business is in Samia's blood." From now on, he said, it would be all right for her to return to Egypt once a year to continue her movie career.

In the Paris ballroom, Moulin-Rouge, it was like old times for two waifs of the political storms. Expatriate Songstress Josephine ("The U.S. is not a free country") Baker, with a basketful of orchids slung over her shoulder, warbled I'm Looking for an Old Friend. When she spotted one in Charlie ("I have been the object of lies and propaganda") Chaplin, she just had to dash over to his table and give him a great big kiss.

Ailing British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, 55, still stretcher-born after two April operations, left his London clinic to recuperate at Prime Minister Churchill's country home. Convalescence is expected to last through the summer.

Mary Martin, on the town after a year in England with the London company of South Pacific, delighted photographers by calling on Beatrice Lillie, the rage of Broadway's An Evening With Beatrice Lillie, for a pleased-as-punch reunion.

Speechmaking in Philadelphia, U.S. Steel Board Chairman Benjamin F. Fairless bemoaned the fact that a big businessman's take-home pay is not what it used to be. "Many of the top executives in some of our largest corporations," he said, "have spent a lifetime in the field of industrial management without ever having been able to accumulate as much as a million dollars. And I know that to be a fact because I happen to be one of them myself."

In a Los Angeles court, Cinemactor John (The Quiet Man) Wayne cried the financial blues as his estranged wife, onetime Mexican Cinemactress Esperanza Baur, demanded $9,000 a month (he is offering $900) while her separate maintenance suit is being decided. Besides all the expenses of stardom, said Wayne, he had to cope with taxes and an extravagant wife. "I know it sounds ridiculous." sighed the cinema heman, whose 1952 income was estimated at $500,000 by his wife, but he and Mrs. Wayne "just couldn't make ends meet."

In Dublin, Eire's Prime Minister Eamon de Valera told Parliament that he and other members of his government had turned down invitations to a Coronation Day garden party at the British embassy for obvious reasons: the title, Queen Elizabeth II "of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," was "unnecessarily and deliberately linked up by the British government with the partition of our country."

Britain's Prima Ballerina Margot Fonteyn, appearing at the University of Leeds for an honorary D. Litt., was happy to call herself "the dancing doctor of letters," but really did not think she was up to the academic honor. Said she: "I am probably the most illiterate of all the ballerinas you have heard of."

Hoosier Tunesmith Hoagy (Stardust) Carmichael, getting set to replace NBC Comics Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca for the summer, beat the television critics to the punch with a quick self-appraisal of his vocal talents: "You can't take too much of my voice. I play my records three times and then I can't stand them. It sounds awful monotonous to me."

Cinemactor George (Call Me Madam) Sanders, 46, frazzled partner in a zso-zso marriage to Zsa-Zsa Gabor (she once discarded him, he said, "like a squeezed lemon"), was apparently topping off his feverish domestic life with an overdose of film work. Abandoning his role in the English-made Knights of the Round Table, Sanders, heading home to Hollywood for a long rest, gasped: "I'm very tired. I'm getting to be an old man."

Cinemactor Lionel Barrymore, a bright-eyed 75, with his first novel (Mr. Cantonwine) newly done, acknowledged that he was preparing a few sample columns for a newspaper syndicate. "There's nothing I'd like better than to be able to sound off about my favorite ideas," he rumbled. "They think I'm a sweet old man. Wait till they start reading my column!"

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.